


Holy Holiday

by badskippy



Series: The Divine Life of Bilbo Baggins [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Afterlife, Durin Family, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, I LOATH RULE 63, M/M, Meet the Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:14:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1387231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskippy/pseuds/badskippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the Holiday season!  Time to meet the Durins ......</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So, This is your Hobbit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beetle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/gifts), [determamfidd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sansûkh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/855528) by [determamfidd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/pseuds/determamfidd). 



> This entire series, while NOT tied directly to the FABULOUS, Sansûkh by the immeasurably taleneted determamfidd, was very much inspired by my love of that fantastic work. Also, the names of Thrain's and Thror's wives have been, lovingly borrowed, from that work. This is why I hope determamfidd will accept the gift of this part of the series.
> 
> \------------
> 
> Also, this work is gifted to my great friend and fellow author, Beetle, who encouraged me to continue this series past the very first part, Divine Intervention. Thank you my friend!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Family are all coming to see Bilbo and Thorin on Yule. THE WHOLE FAMILY ....

 

* * *

 

 

            Bilbo Baggins was miserable.

            He had no idea what to do.

            What _could_ he do?

            _Nothing,_ said that evil little voice in the back of his mind. _And even if there was something to do, do you really think it would make any difference? No—better to just give up now._

Yes, give up now.

            Because in the end, there _was_ nothing Bilbo Baggins could do; there was no Troll to outsmart, no Goblin to outwit, no Pale Orc to battle, no wrecked Hobbit-like creature or gold-maddened dragon to riddle. It was just him, Bilbo—Bilbo Baggins, and his own merits to stand on, and his merits weren’t really all that much now, were they?

            _No._

            The end result will be the same and he would lose the one thing he valued above all others, the one being he truly loved, the only one he _ever_ loved. A choice was going to have to be made and he didn’t think he could ever force anyone to choose like that—let along his Thorin. His poor, sweet, stubborn Dwarf just didn’t deserve to be torn in two and it would end up all being Bilbo’s fault!

            Better to just walk away now, walk away and not look back, just throw himself on his bed and cry for all eternity, let his heart break and live—is _live_ the right term for the afterlife?—knowing that his Dwarf, his love, _his One_ , was better off without him. Yes, it was better to just fade away to nothing and let it all be done.

            Oh by the Green Lady, he needed a glass of wine.

            Or maybe a cup of tea.

            Or a perhaps a scone.

            No, make that two scones.

            All right, maybe several of them.

            “Bilbo?” called the deep, rumbling voice that he loved so much.

            Bilbo couldn’t answer—it was all too much for him.

            “My love,” Thorin said, again attempting to garner Bilbo’s attention. “Why are you laying prone on the bed?”

            Bilbo couldn’t face his love; he simply raised a hand to show he heard.

            “Sanâzyung, what is the matter?”

            Bilbo answered but because his face was buried so deep in a feather pillow, it came out all mumbled and muffled—vaguely aware that he sounded like a young calf trying to talk in Sindarin.

            “Sanâzyung,” Thorin purred. Bilbo swayed as the mattress dipped with Thorin’s weight, and he felt the sensation of a large, callused hand move gently up and down his spine as Thorin spoke again. “I didn’t understand one word you just said.”

            Bilbo pushed himself up and into a sitting position to look at his Dwarf—his handsome, courage, brave, wondrous, utterly sexy Dwarf—with a tremulous and devastated look. “It’s going to be horrible, I just know it!”

            Thorin made no move in body, but his eyes narrowed a fraction. “What are you talking about?”

            Bilbo’s mouth dropped open and he made a small strangled noise at the back of his throat. He just could not believe what he was hearing. “What am I _talking_ about?!” He finally sputtered out. “How can you _joke_ at a time like this?”

            Thorin only quirked an eyebrow before asking, “Who’s joking?” At this, Thorin shrugged. “I have no clue what you are on about.”  

            “The Solstice is tomorrow.”

            “Yes.”

            “The Solstice.”

            “Yes.”

            “ _The Winter Solstice!”_

            “I am not Oin, âzyungel, I heard you the first time—I simple fail to see the problem.”

            Bilbo groaned and hopped off the bed. He began to pace around the room. “It is the Winter Solstice tomorrow; the Yuletide Holiday! We have invited both families—our families—everyone is coming here—to our house—our smial— _our home!”_ Bilbo threw out his arms in an encompassing gesture.

            “I am aware of this,” Thorin said, slowly nodded while keeping his express neutral, least his Hobbit see a look that spoke of how much he hoped to Mahal that Bilbo would start making sense.

            “Your grandparents are coming.”

            “That’s correct.”

            “Your. Grand. Parents.”

            “Yes—check—grandparents—got it.”

            “Don’t you understand?!”

            Thorin shrugged. “I completely understand the familiar connection between myself and my father's parents.”

            Bilbo threw back his head and cried out in frustration.

            “Did you eat any funny mushrooms?” Thorin asked in earnest.

            “Your grandparents! Your grand- _father, THE KING,_ is coming here for the Winter Solstice!” Bilbo wore a look of panic on his face.

            Thorin nodded, hoping against all hope that the time would give him some insight into how to respond to Bilbo’s—accusations?

            “Sanangingel,” Thorin said evenly. “You are married to a king.”

            “You’re different!”

            “You also know my father, who is a king.”

            “Again, not the same.”

            Thorin gently chewed the inside of his cheek. “I’m failing to see your point.”

            Bilbo’s eyes widened in disbelief.

            Thorin put up his hands in a show of surrender. “I don’t know where you are coming from, âzyungel. Excuse me for being but a simple Dwarf.”

            “ _That’s my point!”_ Bilbo said, pointing his finger at his love. “As regal and majestic as you are; as much as you were, _and are,_ a king, you were still a simple blacksmith for a great number of years! Even your father didn’t actually sit on a throne and lord over a rich and powerful kingdom! Thror, on the other hand, ruled Erebor for over two hundred years!”

            Thorin nodded agreement. “Those are all valid points.” He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being a ‘simple blacksmith’ but he couldn’t deny it, nor was he ashamed of what he had to do to make sure his family was feed and clothed. “I’m still unaware of where the problem—”

            “Thror is going to hate me!” Bilbo said with a devastated look on his face. “And he will probably make you choose between me and your family and you might as well just start packing now because I won’t have you suffer through that and it’s all just going to be horrible and terrible and I have no idea—”

            Thorin had crossed the room and pulled Bilbo into a warm cocooning embrace. He wrapped the now sniffling Hobbit in his strong arms; slowly rocking side to side and cradling Bilbo’s head to his chest like one would a small child. Thorin lowered his chin rest on top of Bilbo’s curly mop of hair.

            “Sanâzyung,” Thorin said quietly. “None of that is going to happen.”

            “You don’t know that.” Bilbo mumbled into Thorin’s chest.

            “Yes I do. None will force me, nor even dare _ask me_ , to make such a choice.”

            “They will.”

            “They won’t. And even if they had the gall to do so, my choice would be you.”

            Bilbo sniffles had stopped but he continued hiccupping.

            “Why would you even think this, sanâzyung?”

            Bilbo pulled back a bit so that he could look at Thorin. “Thror hated Thranduil—an Elven king—he will loath me; me, a simple nothing of a Hobbit.”

            Thorin's puffed up at the comparison. “First off, I never want to hear you refer to yourself as a simple nothing of a Hobbit again! You are many things but simple or nothing is not among them!” Thorin was almost angry at the idea. “Second, Thranduil was, and always will be, a pointy-eared, back-stabbing, flounce-y, no good, gold-digging, tree-shagger! Once again, you are none of those things!”

            Bilbo looked up at Thorin and with all earnest said, “But I do have pointed ears.”

            Thorin could only chuckle and shake his head. “Leave it to you to pick out that one small detail.” He kissed his Hobbit, the one he had fought for, would continue to fight for, would gladly be reborn and die again for, the only one he really lived for.

            “Well, I’m a Hobbit,” Bilbo said, much calmer now. “Life is in the details.”

            “Then remember this detail; you have no fear of my grandfather. His opinion, nor that of anyone else’s for that matter, whether good or bad, has no import to how much I love you. And woe to anyone—family, friend or foe, who thinks that it does!”

            Bilbo looked up at his love with red eyes but a smile was on his lips nonetheless. Thorin could not resist placing a kiss upon those same said lips; at least until his nose started to alert him of a problem.

            Thorin sniffed the air. “What is that smell?”

            “Oh my Gods!” Bilbo tore out of the bedroom. “My scones!”

            “So much for the details,” Thorin snickered under his breath as he made to follow his One.

           

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Fili and Kili had arrived early the next morning and helped wherever and whenever they could. Wood was chopped and brought in. All guest rooms were made up, _just in case_ ; anyone wanted or needed to stay over. Every surface dusted, everything wood was polished, windows where cleaned, hallways swept; there wasn’t a thing out of place anywhere!

            All the food for made and prepared before hand. Favorites where made and set aside; Roast beef and potatoes for Thorin, pheasant with wild rice for Dis, honey-glazed ham for Bungo and Belladonna, and creamed broccoli with bacon for Drogo and Primula. Desert favorites were also prepared; double chocolate brownies for Kili and his mother, vanilla cupcakes for Fili—with extra frosting of course, and finally a lemon bunt cake with raspberry filling for Thorin.

            The decorations were up and ready—although, Bilbo and Thorin both agreed that simple was best as Dwarrow didn’t normally celebrate Yule and it would due not to overwhelm anyone with too much. However, the Gandalf-sized pine tree in the front window was beautifully done up in pears, apples, cranberry garland and hand-crafted wooden stars—compliments of Fili and Kili’s whittling skills, not to mention the delicate and dazzling silver icicles and seven pointed filigree star, forged by Thorin’s own loving hands.

            It was just as the sun rose to its zenith and the ham went into the oven that the first knock came on the door.

            Fili and Kili ran for the entry before either Thorin or Bilbo had time to react.

            “Happy Yule!” The brothers said in unison.

            “Hello, dears,” Belladonna said as she and Bungo stepped over the threshold. “You are both looking very handsome.”

            “Thank you Missus Baggins,” Fili said with a small nod of the head. “You are looking as lovely as ever.” That earned the Dwarf a pat on the cheek.

            “May I take your coat, Mister Baggins?” Kili asked.

            “Oh, no bother, my boy,” Bungo replied. “I know where to place it.”

            Thorin and Bilbo emerged from the kitchen to greet the Bagginses in the parlour.

            “Happy Yule, Mum. Pop,” Bilbo said, hugging his mother.

            “Happy Yule, Mister and Missus Baggins,” Thorin stated, shaking Bungo’s hand before kissing Belladonna on her cheek.

            “Thorin,” Bungo said with a shake of his head, “You could at least call us by our first names.”

            “Bungo,” Belladonna said firmly but gently, “He’s being polite—don’t badger him.” Bungo shrugged and Thorin blushed as Belladonna returned his kiss. “Now, what can we do to help, Bilbo?”

            “I think we have everything under control,” Bilbo said before turning to his father. “Although, Pops, would you mind opening some wine?”

            “Righty-ho,” Bungo said grinning. “Thorin, my boy, would care to help me?”

            “Certainly,” Thorin said before adding quietly, “Bungo.”

            “Ah-ha!” Bungo cried before point to his wife. “It’s a start!”

            Belladonna rolled her eyes and waved her husband off with a cluck of her tongue. Bilbo just giggled as his Dwarf and his father exited the room, conversing about the differences between Dale and Hobbit wines.

            There was another knock at the door, which was again answered by the Durin brothers. This time Drogo and Primula were shown in and the gathering got underway. There was much talk and merriment and it wasn’t long before the conversation was as warm and stimulating as the wine.

            It was not a half-hour later that there was a rap at the door and Bilbo answered it to find Frerin and Dis standing there.

            “Welcome!” Bilbo said, pulling Thorin’s siblings forward. “Please come in.”

            “Hello, Bilbo,” Dis said giving the Hobbit a tight hug. “I hope we are not late?!” She was eyeing the gathering in the parlour.

            “Mum!” Both sons came forward to greet their mother with hugs and kisses. “You have to come meet Bilbo’s mum and his cousin, Prim!”

            “Hello, little one,” Frerin said, giving Bilbo a tight hug.

            Bilbo giggled. “Hello, you wolf!” Bilbo retuned the hug.

            “Frerin,” Thorin said with a slight growl. “Unhand my Hobbit.”

            Frerin wore a look of mock indignation. “So possessive, brother-mine!” Bilbo giggled again but more loudly.

            “Damn right,” Thorin said a bit more serious than jokingly. “And if I see your hand slight any further towards his backside, you will not live to see another Yule.”

            “Considering we are all dead, that threat has very little bite,” Frerin said dryly.

            “I’ll show you bite,” Thorin countered.

            “All right, you two,” Bilbo said, releasing Frerin and wrapping an arm through one of Thorin’s. “No fighting. This is a holiday for joy and celebrating.”

            “Exactly!” Frerin answered while directly a rather lecherous grin to Thorin. “And what better way to celebrate than sharing the joy that is Thorin’s burglar.” Frerin winked at Bilbo.

            “Frerin!” Thorin fired up, but Bilbo only laughed and reached up to rub and pat Thorin’s chest—which calmed the Dwarf, if only a bit.

            “Now, now,” Bilbo said soothingly. “He’s only teasing and I think we can all be big boys and get along.”

            “Would you like to see how ‘big’ we boys are, Bilbo?” Frerin said, with another wink.

            Thorin made to reach for his brother but Bilbo beat him to it—yanking Frerin down to his level, Bilbo whispered with a rather dangerous smile, “If you continue to tease my Dwarf, I will cut your braids off so fast it will make your head spin. Do you understand me?”

            “Yes, perfectly,” Frerin said with wide eyes.

            “Excellent,” Bilbo said as he released Thorin’s brother and straightening his waistcoat as any good gentle-hobbit would. “I would be so disappointed if there was any sort of misunderstanding between us.” Bilbo gave Frerin a sweet smile as he slowly sauntered into the parlour.

            “Your Hobbit is vicious,” Frerin said, looking at Thorin.

            “Careful, brother-mine,” Thorin warned with a pleased look upon his face. “Bilbo isn’t joking by half.”

            “Gotcha,” Frerin replied with a nod. “However, I must admit, his feistiness isn’t off putting. It might be worth a braid.” He gave Thorin a wink.

            Thorin only shook his head at his brother’s ridiculousness and was completely convinced that the holiday would not end without Frerin losing a braid to his Hobbit. As he was about to follow, there was a fierce knock at the door and he turned to open it; finding his parents and grandparents on the threshold.

            “Adad, Amad,” Thorin said to his parents. “Idmi! Come in please!”

            Thrain and Fris entered and greeted Thorin with much affection.

            “I hope we are not late,” Fris said with trepidation.

            “Not at all,” Bilbo said, coming up behind Thorin and greeting both Fris and Thrain with Hugs.

            “I’m afraid I am the reason we are late,” Thrain said to Bilbo quietly. Even now, in the afterlife, Thrain’s long held captivity and torture at the hands of Sauron and his minions continued to take its toll.

            “It’s perfectly fine,” Bilbo whispered to his father-in-law, knowing full well the meaning behind Thrain’s words.

            “Bilbo,” Thorin said, as his parents stepped aside. “May I introduce my grandmother, her majesty, Queen Hrera.” Indicated a beautiful older Dwarrowdam to his left.

            “Shamukh ra ghelekhur aimâ,” Bilbo said, with a bow at the waist.

            “And the same to you,” Hrera replied in Westron. “Please call me, Hrera or, Umad—if you would like.”

            Bilbo blushed a bit. “Thank you. And please call me Bilbo.”

            Thorin stood by and smiled. His grandmother, while known for her fierceness as well as her beauty, was also known to be gracious and kind. He swelled at pride that she would be so taken with his little One to allow him to call her grandmother.

            “And Bilbo,” Thorin said, catching his Hobbit’s attention once more before turning to speak to a tall silver-haired older Dwarf behind his grandmother. “Grandfather, may I present my husband and One, Bilbo Baggins of The Shire—Bilbo, this is my grandfather, King Thror son of Dain I, King of Erebor.”

            Bilbo and King Thror stood staring at each other for what seemed, to Bilbo, an eternity. All other conversations, if they continued—because Bilbo couldn’t tell what was going on anywhere else frankly, were lost in those long moments.

            It was Bilbo who broke the chilly silence.

            “Welcome, your majesty,” Bilbo said softly then bowed low at the waist.

            Thror’s eyes roamed over Bilbo from his curly head to the tops of his fuzzy feet and then slowly back up to meet the wide-eyed Hobbit’s stare with an expressionless gaze of his own.

            Finally, Thror drew both of his hands behind him and clasped them together

            “So,” Thror said quietly, “This is your Hobbit.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuz-dul Translations**  
>  Adad – Father  
> Amad – Mother  
> Âzyungel – the love of all loves (term of endearment)  
> Idmi - Welcome  
> Sanâzyung – perfect (true/pure) love = (a Dwarf’s One)  
> Sanangingel – perfect (true/pure) flower of flowers  
> Shamukh ra ghelekhur aimâ – Hail and well met (greetings and good be upon us)  
> Udad – Greater Father (Grandfather)  
> Umad – Greater Mother (Grandmother)


	2. Past Faults and Present Blessings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thror shares many traits with his grandson, Thorin. He apparently shares something with Billbo as well - misunderstanding.

 

* * *

 

            “I just don’t understand,” Thorin said shaking his head.

            “Your Udad,” Hrera said quietly, “has been very reluctant to meet your Hobbit.”

            Thorin cringed. “Grandmother, please—his name is Bilbo.” At present, their pet names seemed distasteful, despite that both he and Bilbo teasingly referred to each other as ‘my Hobbit’ and ‘my Dwarf’; to hear it on another’s lips made Thorin’s skin crawl.

            “I meant no disrespect, azaghith,” Hrera countered. “I, personally, think Bilbo is charming and you should count yourself very lucky. Your father and mother have had nothing but kind words for him.”

            Thorin smiled at this. Bilbo had taken to Thrain quite easily and he was often one of the few people to be able to sooth the former king when memories of his torture at the hands of Sauron’s hordes overwhelmed him; a torture that damaged Thrain’s soul as much as it had his physical body.

            “Indeed,” Fris stated. “Yet I have to agree with Thorin—Thror’s attitude is at the very least perplexing and at worst uncalled for.”

            “Whenever we have talked of meeting Bilbo,” Thrain added, “Adad would grow quiet and withdrawn--he bordered on flatly refusing to be in the same room with him.”

            Thorin turned and looked towards one of the subjects of their conversation. Bilbo was busying himself with chopping garnishes and puttering around the kitchen—he had refused any assistance and ordered anyone that wasn’t named Bilbo out.   Thorin was sorely tempted to go and comfort him, but he knew better. Bilbo was trying to regain his emotional equilibrium and the Hobbit did that best when he had tedious work to occupy his hands and his mind.

            Thror, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. After their terse introduction, Bilbo had lead the elder Dwarrow into the parlour but Thror had only given the briefest of acknowledgements to those present before excusing himself to go out to the back garden.

            The remaining Dwarrow present knew something was off. Dis and the boys said nothing but Thorin caught them passing looks back and forth between themselves and occasionally one of them would look over to Thorin or Bilbo. Thorin, his parents and grandmother, stood chatting by the fireplace, attempting to look as if holding a casual conversation.

            “I am going to go speak with Udad,” Thorin said as he placed his mulled wine down.

            “Do you need me to come?” Hrera asked with a pointed look.

            “No,” Thorin shook his head slightly. “I think it best that he not feel threatened or cornered.”

            All three elders nodded and they turned to speak with Bilbo’s family while Thorin discreetly made his way to the back garden.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Thror sat on a garden bench and looked at the back door with interest. The opening was circular in shape like the front, however, the actually door was a rectangle in the center, thus having a curved window on either side and above to fill in the round frame. Amusingly, but certainly not surprising, the little window in the angular door was round. Thror had to admire the craftsmanship—although nothing like what a Dwarf would design, the geometric patterns of the round frame mixed with the straight lines of the door combined with the door’s own round window, created an elegant statement that no Dwarrow could deny, while being completely functional.

            Thror was impressed, even if he only admitted it to himself.  He looked away and stared at a small table covered with pots of miniature roses.

            He had been dreading this gathering for some time now. He successfully avoided meeting Master Baggins for a good long while—he had to pat himself on the back for that. There was always an excuse handy in The Halls; meetings with old colleagues, gatherings of warriors, feigning disinterest, all the way to outright refusal.

            However, this time his wife, son and daughter-in-law had put their collective feet down and stated that if he didn’t go, he could bloody well stay in The Halls on his own and his queen had threatened to stay for weeks at his grandson’s home here if Thror continued his refusal to attend. That finally did it and he gave in.

            What could he say to the half-ling—no, not ‘half-ling’, his wife had told him, it was ‘Hobbit’ and he had better not get that wrong!  Of course, once the small being was in front of him—all thought went right out the window.

            “Grandfather?” came the deep voice of his eldest grandson.

            Thror turned to find Thorin standing there—tall and proud.   “Why are you out here?”

            “I came to see you,” Thorin’s voice was even and gave nothing away.

            “Am I so worrisome that I need nursing-maiding?” Thror asked looking back over to the miniature rose bushes.

            “Worrisome, no,” Thorin answered. “Troublesome, yes.”

            Thror turned his head to glare at his eldest grandson. “Watch your tongue; I am still king."

            “King you may be,” Thorin continued, unconcerned. “But not here and you know it. I will say what I need to say.”

            “Then say it and be done with it,” Thror demanded.

            “Very well,” Thorin’s voice took on a hard quality and it was clear the gauntlet had been thrown down. “You sweep into Bilbo’s home— _our home_ —and bestow him with condescension and rudeness. You look him over as if he is an insect to be crushed and discarded rather than the family member he is! And you dare to insult him further by sequestering yourself out of sight, as if he were not worth your notice, let alone your time!”

            “You expect me to make merry?”

            “I expect you to be pleasant and polite!”

            “You expect this when I am not welcomed?”

            “You have been welcomed—Bilbo has been nothing _but_ welcoming!”

            “A facade—nothing more!”

            “If you hate him so much, then you should never have come!”

            “You believe I hate him?!” Thror shouted, glaring at Thorin.

            “You have not given me evidence of any other emotion!” Thorin thundered back.

            “It is he that despises me, not the other way around!” Thror roared back at his grandson.

            “I do not despise you,” Bilbo said softly from behind Thorin. Both Thorin and Thror turned to see that they had completely missed Bilbo coming out the back door.

            “My love,” Thorin whispered as he crossed over to Bilbo. “Why don’t you—”

            “Amagur,” Bilbo said quietly, “dinner is ready, so if you wouldn’t mind getting everyone’s drink sorted?”

            “Gehyu,” Thorin whispered to Bilbo before glancing at his grandfather, “I don’t think—”

            “Please?” Bilbo asked gently but insistently.

            As much as he hated leaving, Thorin had learned many times over that Bilbo could handle himself and that all he had to do was trust his little One. With that in mind, Thorin reluctantly nodded and left his husband and grandfather alone in the garden.

            Thror and Bilbo stood silently for long seconds; finally it was Bilbo who once again broke the stillness.

            “Why would you think I hate you?” Bilbo asked.

            “How could you not, Master Hobbit,” Thror spat out and turned his gaze away.

            “Bilbo.”

            “I beg your pardon?”

            “My name is Bilbo. It would honor me if would use it.”

            “An honor I haven’t earned.”

            “But you have no need to earn it.”

            “Do I not?”

            Bilbo released a sigh. He was reminded of his own concerns just the day before and wondered if this was how Thorin was feeling then, because he could honestly say he had no clue where the Dwarf king was going with, or coming from, the conversation.

            “No,” Bilbo said. “You have no need to earn something you already have the right to.”

            Thror gave Bilbo an incredulous look. “How can you be so forgiving of the wrongs I have done to you?”

            Bilbo was now totally lost. “I am wholly unaware of any wrongs or slights you have done again me.” Thror’s eyes widened even more before Bilbo pressed on. “Truly, there is nothing to make amends for—not to me in any case.”

            “Is there not?” Thror demanded, stepping towards Bilbo. “Do you not blame me, and rightfully so, for Thorin’s untimely death and your long, lonely life without him?”

            Bilbo was shocked. “How is Thorin’s death your fault?”

            Thror seemed on the verge of raging. “Because it was my folly that brought the great wurm, Smaug, to Erebor! If I had listened to the warnings, Thorin would not have died reclaiming a mountain that should never have been lost in the first place!”

            “Thorin died defending his home,” Bilbo said gently. “Even if Smaug had never come, he would have gone out to battle anyone that threatened Erebor; his death was at the hands of the Orcs, not you.”

            “And what of the Arkentstone,” Thror threw out and seemed justified with Bilbo’s involuntary flinch. “You cannot not blame me for that!”

            Bilbo shook his head. “But I don’t. I no more blame you than I would blame the miner to found it in the first place.” Bilbo took a deep breath before continuing. “To blame you would be like blaming an ill man for getting sick.”

            “But surely,” Thror said, clearly not convinced to what Bilbo was saying. “Looking back on—”

            Bilbo laughed outright at that one. “Your majesty, I have learned that when someone is looking on the past, they often have a particular clarity of vision. However, when looking at the future, that same vision is very cloudy—if not out right blind. No one can predict what is to come. And no matter what warnings were given, you could not have foreseen the destruction that befell your people, your son nor your grandson.”

            Thror was still not on the same page. “But look at what you lost.”

            “Look at what I gained,” Bilbo countered. “Thorin’s life brought him knocking on my door that fine summer evening—if it hadn’t, I would never have known him at all.”

            Thror stood still and said nothing.

            “Thorn’s life and its hardships,” Bilbo continued, “cannot be solely laid at your feet—if at all. Many things made Thorin what he was and is; Smaug’s attack, Thranduil’s betrayal, The Battle of Azanulbizar, blacksmithing in the towns of Men, his father’s disappearance—the list goes on and on.  But all of it brought him to the point of retaking Erebor and claiming his right to be King. And for that he needed a burglar; that is what brought us together.

            “I had already lived half my life—alone and lonely and in all likelihood, I would have continued on in that same vein for the rest of my days. Never to know adventure or courage or bravery or even the loss of love—because I would never have known what it was to love in the first place.

            “If you insist on taking blame for mistakes of the past, then I must insist that you take the credit for the blessings of the present.”

            Thror seemed to deflate with Bilbo’s words, while Bilbo laughed to himself. Here he had been so scared and worried to finally met the great Thror and all this time, the mighty Dwarf was feeling the same about Bilbo.

            “It appears that I have misjudged you,” Thror said quietly and with a small smile to Bilbo.

            Now Bilbo laughed out loud.  "One more trait to share with your grandson!” When Thror looked confused, Bilbo rushed to add, “You two should have a chat about that.” Bilbo gave Thror a grin. “Come your majesty, I ask you to give me the honor of dining with our family.”

            As he turned to go inside, Bilbo was stopped by Thror’s hand on his elbow to keep him there.

            “Bilbo,” Thror said and Bilbo elated with the use of his name. “There is an honor you could bestow me.” Bilbo’s brows knitted together but he was silenct as waited for Thror to continue. “If it would please you, would you call me, Udad? I know it would please me.”

            Bilbo’s heart soared and he couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around the king’s waist and giving his grandfather-in-law a tight hug. He felt Thror stiffen for a moment before two strong arms returned his hug eagerly.

            “Come, Udad,” Bilbo said as the pulled apart. “Let’s have dinner before everyone else eats it all!” This got a laugh from the elder Dwarf.

            “If they do,” Thror said with a deep, kingly voice. “There will be nowhere they can hide—for I know my grandson is a fierce Hobbit who does not take kindly to being burglared out of his dinner!”

            Bilbo was glad Thror still had an arm around him or he would have fallen over laughing. “Damn straight!”

            They were still laughing about it when they came into the dining room.

            “I see there are no more misunderstandings,” Thorin said looking from Thror to Bilbo.

            “Misunderstandings?” Bilbo said with indignation. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” Bilbo waved Thorin’s concerns away. “Always so overdramatic.”

            Thorin just shook his head and gave up.

            “Udad,” Bilbo said casually, failing to see the drop jaw looks from the other Dwarfs in the room besides Thror. “Why don’t you sit here at the head of the table?”

            Thror shook his head. “No. That is Thorin’s seat and I will not take his place of honor in your home.”

            “Well, you could seat at the other end then,” Bilbo offered.

            “That is your place,” Thror answered with another shake of his head. “Again, I will not take it.”

            “Oh, don’t be silly,” Bilbo said.

            “I will do no such thing.”

            “Honestly. Are we going to argue about this every time you come for dinner?”

            “Yes!”

            Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Dwarrow stubbornness!” This just earned a laugh from everyone at the table.

            As the laughter died down, there was a knock on the front door.

            “If that’s Lobelia looking for a free meal,” Bilbo started.

            “I’ll get it,” Thorin said, starting to stand up.

            “No,” Thror said, “I will answer the door—I’m still up and I am closer.”

            With no further comment, Thror left and everyone was busy passing dishes and asking for seasonings and multiple conversations started up as the merry chaos continued all around them.

            “Bilbo,” Thror said as he came back to the dining room entry. “This youngster here says he knows you.”

            Thror stepped aside and all sound stopped at Bilbo’s and Primula’s gasps.

            “Happy Yule, everyone!” Frodo said with a toothy grin.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuz-dul Translations**  
>  Adad - Father  
> Amagur – Bear  
> Azaghith – Warrior that is young  
> Gehyu – Dove  
> Udad – Greatest Father (grandfather).


End file.
